Bruises
by abbyfillion22
Summary: Post Number One Fan: Castle and Beckett discuss their bruises. ONESHOT


**These bruises  
Makes for better conversation  
Loses the vibe that separates  
It's good to let you in again  
You're not alone in how you've been  
Everybody loses-we all got bruises  
We all got bruises**

**-Bruises, Train**

* * *

She lies next to him; her head propped up on one elbow and lounging against his side. Her thigh draped lazily over his, her gaze remains transfixed on the circular bruise marking her fiancé's chest like a black and blue tattoo.

His eyelids become heavy as he watches her fingers lightly caress the tender area. Her touch is soothing; light as a feather.

The alarm clock glows 2:30 and they both have had a trying day yet neither can sleep. The loft is silent except for their steady breathing-that and the annoying drone of Pi's snoring coming from the living room couch.

"Look," Castle mutters, breaking the relative quiet. He points to his own bruise and then to the round pink scar that's taking its sweet time erasing itself from her skin and her memory. Both marks are in the same spot. "We're matching now."

Beckett's hand stops mid-stroke and closes into a fist so the discoloration is concealed. "That's not the best thing in the world to have in common, Castle." They both have had far too many near-death experiences for comfort. One day, it won't be a _near_- death experience and where will she be then?

His arm snakes around her waist and he pulls her closer. "I don't think mine is nearly as bad as yours," Castle says as he plants a kiss on the top of her head. "Mine's just a bruise."

She shrugs. "It depends on how you look at it. A bruise for some people might be worse than a scar. You have nothing to show for it in a month."

Castle grins. "Except a hole in my vest."

"Aren't you going to get that fixed?" she asks. Of course, it was a happy coincidence that the bullet just so happened to dot the _I _on his WRITER vest. A centimeter higher and that bullet would have taken Castle's life.

"Hell no," he replies incredulously. "That's my own little battle scar. Speaking of which, are you going to get _yours _fixed? Not that I'm saying you should," he adds quickly.

"Get what fixed?"

"Your scar."

She sits up and tugs the champagne-colored sheet over her knees. "Never."

He tilts his head slightly and places his chin in his hands; waiting for an explanation.

"It's a part of me now," Kate sighs, "I wouldn't change any part of me just because it's ugly. I have plenty of demons and my shooting was one of them."

He nods. "I wouldn't change any part of you either." Truth be told, one of the reasons he loves her so much is because she has her flaws. She may not like all of them-being the perfectionist that she is-but he does.

"It's a reminder," she continues, "of how far I've come since then. Like you said, it's my own little battle scar; literally and figuratively."

Beckett's smile slowly begins to fade as she resumes her touching of his bruise. "Goddammit, Rick."

"Ouch," he grimaces when she presses her fingers a little too hard.

"Sorry."

"What?"

"You almost _died_!"

"Almost doesn't count except with horseshoes."

She punches him in the bicep. "How many times is one of us going to _almost _die before our luck runs out?" she asks with a concerned glare.

"Occupational hazard," he points out. "Besides, almost dying makes for good conversation, don't you think? What would we be talking about right now if I didn't just get shot?"

He has a good point, she realizes.

"Well," she says, dropping her voice to a seductive growl, "we wouldn't be _talking_."

"Why, Detective Beckett, what are you insinuating?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Kate taps the bruise. "Does this still hurt?" Her hand begins to wander downwards and stops to play with the elastic of his shorts. Her fingers dance teasingly over the silky fabric. She's been waiting all night to get her hands on him ever since that extremely conservative kiss in the middle of the precinct that left her desperate for more.

"Ah," he winces as he goes to sit up, "only when I move."

"No problem," she says, wetting her lips before sliding down the bed, "you don't have to move."


End file.
